~*~
That weekend was the longest of her life.
As it turned out, most of her shiny new friends were renegade geeks, which meant that when she called Willow Saturday to see if they could go shopping, the redhead told her that she was studying for a huge test Monday.
Geeks so never had any fun...
And it wasn’t like she could really go out of her room—Dawn had this conference thingy in Indianapolis and her parents were arguing about who should go, which meant that if she put a toe downstairs except when she had to eat and stuff then her parents would start in on her hair, her grades, her hobbies, blah, blah, blah.
So she stayed in her room.
She was almost ready to rip her fancy new dyed hair out by the time Monday finally rolled around.
She dressed in a red dress, small and cute but not overly slutty, and strappy red sandals. The red made her hair look pale gold, a big improvement on bleached blonde...although bleached blonde looked very good on some people...and once she added red lip gloss, she was done.
She surveyed her reflection in the mirror a few minutes before she headed for school. Spike was gonna drop dead when he saw her, and she really couldn’t wait.
Not that she was planning on that being the highlight of her day, or anything. Just a perk.
“Buffy! Get down here, those friends of yours are honking the horn!”
Her hands froze. Friends? She had them—in theory, at least—but since when did they come to her house and honk the horn?
“Uh, Mom? What color car is it?”
“How should I know?” Joyce snapped. “Get your lazy tail down here and look yourself!”
Buffy rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror. That was her family—wonderful people, all of them. She grabbed her backpack and ran down the stairs, barely pausing in the living room before dashing out the door.
And immediately halting in horror. Spike’s big, black, dented DeSoto was sitting in her driveway.
What the hell was wrong with him? Did he not get that she hated him?
Oh, wait. The last time they’d seen each other, they’d been kissing. Crap.
At least he wasn’t alone. She could make out Willow, Oz, Faith, Anya, and Xander, who looked terrified at being squished into the front seat next to Anya.
“Hey, B, get in the damn car, I gotta fit in a quickie before homeroom!”
“Faith! Not everyone wants to hear about your sexcapades, especially not your lesbian adventures!” Anya was snapping as Buffy slid into the car.
“Threesomes aren’t lesbian, they’re just mad fun.”
Willow wrinkled her nose at Buffy. “Are you as disgusted as I am?”
“Way past that,” Buffy said, staring at Faith.
“Right, then. We ready?” Spike sounded irritated, as usual.
“Hey, Spike,” Buffy called out. “Like my hair?” She coked her head and grinned at him.
He glanced at her in the mirror disinterestedly. “Looks nice,” he said. “Bit yellow, don’t y’think?”
Anya turned around. “He’s lying,” she informed him cheerfully. “He did a double take when he saw you. I watched him. And it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that he has an erection, too.” At her words, the DeSoto began accelerating dangerously.
“Ah, Anya? Remember the whole private/not private talk we had?” Xander said hastily.
Anya gave him a cold look. “Xander, when you become my boyfriend, then you will have the right to give me orders influenced by many orgasms. In the meantime, however, you’re not my boss.”
“Uh, guys? Let’s talk about something else,” Willow suggested eagerly. “Buffy, I really like your hair. I didn’t have a chance to tell you before because of the, um, lesbian action and—well, stuff. But I really, really like it. I think it fits you.”
“I thought so.” Buffy glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, satisfied—and caught Spike looking at her, an impenetrable expression on his face. “What?” Oops. Ladies and gentlemen, Uber-Bitch Buffy was in the house.
“’s nothing,” he said, mildly enough. “Think the do’s nice...get a lobotomy, pet, and it’ll be a real improvement.”
Her mouth fell open. “You—look who’s talking!” she exclaimed. “I’m surprised the bleach hasn’t made your brain trickle out of your ears—not,” she added snidely, “That anyone would notice, since your brain’s the only thing smaller than your dick!”
Silence. Complete, utter silence. Buffy felt herself go red. She’d been a little...well...
“Harsh.”
Trust Oz to be able to sum it up with one little word. Her face turned ever redder and she slumped down in the seat a little. Wonderful. Sucky Monday, mad Spike, bitchy Buffy, lesbian Faith. This week should be a merry-go-round of fun.
The rest of the (thankfully short) ride to school was made in silence. Willow was sending everybody worried looks. When they got out of the car, Buffy realized someone was missing. “Willow, where’s Tara?”
Willow looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t hear?”
“Um, no.” Buffy raised her eyebrows impatiently. “Wills—wait, did something happen?” She didn’t think she’d ever seen Willow look so serious—although, to be fair, she’d known her for like a week.
“It’s her grandmother—they took her over to Sunnydale Hospital Sunday,” Willow told her quietly.
OK. She shouldn’t have felt hurt. She really, really shouldn’t have been hurt.
Funny how she was anyway. Her throat closed up and she blinked rapidly. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry... “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she forced herself to ask.
Willow’s expression immediately became sympathetic. “Oh, we didn’t know...I mean, you’re kind of new and Tara, well, she’s sensitive, we didn’t know if you’d want to be involved, or, or if it would be mean to tell you, or...sorry?” Her hopeful expression sounded like a question.
Buffy sighed. They were standing in the middle of the school parking lot—she couldn’t act all offended. “Yeah. It’s cool. I mean, it’s not like I really matter to anyone, or something like that.”
Willow’s look turned horrified. “Oh, Buffy, I didn’t want you to think—I mean, it’s just, Tara’s really shy, and—“
“Will, relax,” Buffy advised. “I was making with the funny.”
“Oh.” But she still looked nervous...good. Buffy was still hurt. “Right. Okay, then. See you later?”
Buffy nodded. “Yeah. Later.” After I finish being super annoyed.
“Well, okay. Bye, then.” Willow gave her another supremely awkward smile and walked off.
Spike’s car wasn’t exactly something she wanted to hang around, since that would probably mean hanging around Spike and hello, major, major badness, but Buffy didn’t really want to walk into school just then. So instead, she leaned against the car and stared after Willow.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“Huh?” Buffy frowned and focused on the very tall person who suddenly stood in front of her. Her frown turned into a scowl when she saw it was Spike.
“Since when did you think you ‘ad the right to go an’ attack me like that in my sodding car?” he snapped, his accent thickening in his rage.
Wait. No. She frowned. Not rage. Well, actually, she couldn’t really tell, since he was so close to her that she was staring at his chest instead of his face...she tilted her head up and looked him in the eye. His nostrils were flaring, his jaw was set, and his blue eyes were hard, but he didn’t look angry. Actually, he looked...
Hurt.
Great. Perfect. He could just join the club, in that case. “Hey, don’t look at me that way,” Buffy snapped defensively. “I wasn’t the one who was all, ‘Oh, you’d be perfect if you got a lobotomy.’”
“No instead you go off and get a completely new look, insult me, and ignore what happened Friday.”
“Because I don’t give a damn!”
That turned out to be a mistake. His eyes widened before narrowing dangerously as he grabbed her arms and slammed her forcibly against the car. “What the bloody hell d’you mean, you don’t give a damn!”
“I mean that it was a mistake, you bastard! Now get the hell off of me!” She tried to push his arms away, but he wouldn’t budge.
“No. I got the sodding hell offa you before, an’ then you go out an’ pull this.” He grabbed a handful of her hair.
“Oh, don’t even try it, Spike,” she scoffed. “You so totally liked it and you know it.”
He closed his eyes; she tested trying to move, even a little bit, but it didn’t work. He was gripping her tighter than Angel gripped his beer bottles on Friday nights with one hand, and his body pressed her against the car.
When he opened his eyes she almost shivered. Whoops—no, she really did shiver. His eyes seemed to burn into her, stripping away all her defenses, making her see that the words she was forcing out of her mouth were...well...lies.
“Yes, I like the hair, a’right?” he said finally. “The hair, an’ the clothes, and God help me Summers, ‘s the whole sodding package. An’ I try, an’ try, but the whole bleeding time, all I can think about is you. D’you get it?” His grip softened, along with his gaze—but though his anger was less, he was still staring at her more intensely than anyone ever had before.
All she could do was shake her head, because no, she really didn’t get it. All she knew was that he was staring at her and she really didn’t want him to stop, plus also she really, really wanted him to kiss her again which made absolutely no sense because she hated him, right? Except that after seeing his parents and hearing him talk and seeing him, for crying out loud, she really couldn’t keep up the whole Buffy-Hates-Spike thing. She just...couldn’t.
“You don’t—“ he plowed his hands through his hair before staring at her again. “Eighth grade, Cordelia’s pool party.” Now his voice was soft, flat. He seemed just as confused as she was. “Saw you...you were wearin’ red then, too. Your hair was different...shorter...made you look adorable, like a pixy. Saw you and I thought you were the most beautiful thing ‘d ever seen.”
Her mouth fell open. She maybe expected him to admit that she made him horny because, well, it was kinda obvious. She figured he’d tell her that she drove him insane, and that she ought to just go back to her stupid cheerleader friends. She hadn’t expected him to say...
“And God help me, Buffy, I haven’t been able to stop since then. I’m not—I was never anyone you’d wanna look at, much less be with, but dammit...” He pulled away abruptly, releasing her. She should have run away. She really, really should have. But all she could do was stare.
“D-dammit, what?” she asked, her voice quieter than it had ever been. She didn’t know why, but whatever was about to come out of his mouth—she knew it was important.
“When you moved here...sophomore year,” he said softly. “Dunno ‘f you remember...there was a big row between me an’ you...I stepped on your shoes, you spilled Coke on m’ coat....”
Oh, she remembered, all right. It was pretty hard to forget seeing a guy and thinking he was the hottest thing you’d ever seen in your life, and then two seconds later deciding—and announcing to the whole school—that you hated him for eternity.
And now this. She cocked her head at him. “I remember,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, didn’t stop there, did it?” he said, his voice half-trembling. “Damn near three soddin’ years, Summers, of me swearin’ to all an’ sundry that I hated you, an’ then every Friday, every Friday just like clockwork, down at the Bronze...every Friday I watched you dance.”
His expression changed abruptly; it went from quiet and sincere to sarcastic and defensive. “Get it now, Summers?”
She didn’t say anything. She just stared at him, keeping her face expressionless. Something had just occurred to her...some niggling little thing that hadn’t wanted to reveal itself to her before was all of a sudden choosing to make itself known.
Two years ago, the spring dance. She’d known him for a little more than six months. He’d spilled punch on her cute red dress, and she’d been spitting mad. She’d been dating Angel at the time, and he’d tried to get her to calm down, but she’d screamed her head off at Spike.
”You stupid worthless punk, why don’t you just curl up in a corner somewhere and die! You ruined my dress!” she screamed, clenching her fists. The bastard has spilled so much punch that the entire front of her dress was sopping wet.
“Actually, I rather think it looks better now,” he said sneering. “Least you’ll end up changing...I dunno how Captain Forehead puts up with it, you’re dressed like a complete tramp.”
“You fucking bastard! I am so gonna—“ She took a few steps forward till they were almost nose-to-nose.
“Gonna what, Summers?” he sneered down at her. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard.
And in his eyes had been the same expression that lay there now: eagerness. Not for a fight, well, not exactly; eagerness to...to what?
“Look, are you going to answer me, or not?”
His voice snapped her out of her reverie. She stared at him, perplexed. “Do you like fighting with me?”
His turn to stare. “What?”
“Do you like fighting with me?” she repeated.
He shook his head. “I like anything involving you, Buffy,” he said. Her name sounded odd coming from his lips. She wished he’d say it more often.
“So...what is this?” she motioned between them. “I mean, I barely know you. I barely know me. But I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know your favorite color, or, or...your favorite, um, color...”
“Pet, after that interview you know damn near everything there is to know ‘bout me.”
“But not your favorite color,” she hastened to argue. Why she was pressing this point so eagerly was completely beyond her.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Think it’s a bit obvious, personally.”
“Black’s not a color,” she shot back.
He let out an exasperated sigh and stepped back, running his eyes over her. His hand, though, stayed in her hair.
“Hey! Stop staring at me...oh. Red,” she said, finally catching his hint. “Right.” She looked down. “Color of blood and death and gore and all.” She lowered her head. He was staring at her again, and it was wigging her out in the worst way.
“Also,” he whispered, stepping forward again, “The color of your lips, luv...something ‘ve spent considerable time starin’ at...” He moved still closer, until her bottom pressed hard against the black car. Her stomach was pressed against something even more hard, and she fought the urge to either squeal or jump him—she wasn’t sure which she really wanted to do.
Or, rather, she was sure, and it scared the hell out of her.
Which was why she stopped him right before he touched his lips to hers. She stopped him not because she didn’t want it, but because she did.
“Look...I can’t do this,” she said, trying hard to explain.
“Why the bloody hell not?” Oh, great, she’d made him mad. Mad Spike was just what she wanted to deal with...not.
“Because—well, for one thing, it’s like two minutes to homeroom. And plus this is majorly weird, what with the whole stalkerish thing, plus I’m just...I’m just really confused.” She widened her eyes hoping to God he’d understand. “I like you a lot. It’s a very like-ey situation, but...can we just...be friends?”
“Friends.” He seemed to be testing the words. “Been enemies for three years and ‘ve wanted you the whole time.”
“Um...yeah.” She licked her lips and looked away. “Same here.”
“That so?”
“Well, you know. With the leather coat, and the hair, and the body...okay, you can stop looking all conceited now,” she snapped, because he had this sexy little smirk on his face that even though it was way sexy was also really, really annoying.
“Right,” he said, moving away from her. He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing her scalp lightly, before finally releasing the newly golden locks. “By the way, I lied b’fore,” he told her. “I like the hair. Makes you glow.”
She smiled at him, slowly, sweetly, surprised by the pure niceness behind that statement. “Thanks, Spike.”
He cocked that oh-so-familiar eyebrow at her. “You’re welcome, Buffy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Does being nice feel weird to you?”
He grimaced. “Yeah.”
She nodded. “Just checking.”
They probably would have continued their odd little exchange if the bell for homeroom hadn’t rung. “Ah, shit. We’re gonna be late.”
Buffy cocked her head, looking at the school. It wasn’t all that far away, since they were in the parking lot and all. “We could run,” she suggested, earning herself an extremely sarcastic look from Spike. “Okay,” she corrected herself, “You could run, and I could...um...hop.” She looked down at her feet. “Or take the sandals off and run.”
“Right.” Wow. They were trying out the whole friends thing and he was still sarcastic. “What say we just get to class, pet?”
“Sounds good,” she agreed, and they walked to the school, Buffy darting glances and trying to ignore how thrilled she was that he’d called her “pet” the whole time.
~*~
A/N: I can’t figure out if this chap totally sucks or not =) So tell me what you think, please!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
A/N: So, I had a bit of a problem with this update. The problem being that I got bored. And I figured if I was bored, in all probability, you guys would be, too, so I decided to speed things up a bit =) Hope you like it...and by the way, this is the first of my stories that's gotten more than 100 reviews, so THANK YOU!!!!! =D I love you guys!